


migration patterns

by insomniacjams



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 11:58:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5205074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insomniacjams/pseuds/insomniacjams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>birds fly south for the winter.<br/>Jamie isn't a bird, but he goes south anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	migration patterns

**Author's Note:**

> "I think this year I've lost more than I've found.  
> It spun me 'round and knocked me down and dragged me out.  
> But no matter how I find myself falling in around  
> You've been my sore eyes and solid ground."  
> \- St. Anne, Make Do and Mend
> 
> (I can't make your funeral, so I wrote you a story instead)

As far as endings go, it isn't spectacular. It doesn't employ magical realism like Birdman, or keep the audience guessing like Inception. There's no promise – just the heavy weight of something pushing down on Jamie's chest. "So this is it," Jordie's voice breaks through the eerie silence of winter. "You're leaving – just like that."

"I can't stay here anymore," Jamie says. His pack is heavy on his back already and he's only walked from the kitchen to his front step. It doesn’t feeling like an ending; the snow drifts down around them, too calm for how high strung Jordie is, buzzing with raw energy.

"Where will you go?"

"I don't know," Jamie says. "But birds fly south."

"You ain't no bird, Chubbs," Jordie says.

"No, but some days I wish I was. I guess this is the next best thing."

As far as endings go, it isn't glorified. He doesn't march off to the sound of trumpets, or think about the people and places he's leaving behind. Instead, he tracks a trail of footprints in fresh snow, and drives to the ferry terminal.

He makes a few stops on the way. He watches the rain hit his wipers on the highway heading down through Seattle and buys world famous donuts in Portland. He eats Animal fries in a corner booth by himself at In-N-Out burger when he reaches California, and heads east, letting the lights from the Vegas strip blind him.

His mind is blank, his body is numb, and his fingers tap the wheel to an unheard song. He hasn't had music on since he left his driveway. He keeps the silence until Flagstaff, Arizona. There, he picks up a hitchhiker with a big mouth and colourful arms. He says, "I'm Tyler."

Jamie says, "I don't care."  


Tyler says, "I need to get to Dallas."

Jamie says, "Ok."

He doesn't say anything more, not even when Tyler rifles through the glove box without permission, and plays an Iron Maiden CD that used to belong to Jordie years ago when he went through his 'heavy metal' phase. 

"Why are you here?" Tyler asks as they stop just outside of Albuquerque. 

"I don't like the snow," Jamie says.

"Canadian?" Tyler guesses. Jamie wonders if he can really pick out the accent from so few words. He nods.

"Cool, me too," Tyler says. Jamie doesn’t offer anything more, and Tyler stops asking, even when they stop at a motel for the night. Tyler offers to get a room with two beds for both of them. Jamie spends most of the night awake, listening to the clock tick and watching the numbers switch, one after another.

It's late when they get into Dallas.

"Where do I leave you?" 

"Uh, keep going this way," Tyler tells him. His hands are wrenched tight together. His jaw is locked tight and his right foot taps unsteadily where it's twisted up against his other leg.

"Where are you going?" Jamie dares to ask.

"Away from Boston," Tyler tells him. "Where are you going?"

"South," Jamie says.

"Well, you're pretty far south now," Tyler snorts. "What are you, some sort of fucking bird trying to fly south for winter?"

"I wish," Jamie mutters.

"So, you going to keep moving?" Tyler asks, and Jamie shrugs.

"Dallas is nice this time of year," Tyler continues. Jamie shrugs again.

"I guess." It's quite warm, for winter. There aren't any snow banks on the side of the road. There's a hockey team, and steak. He could feel at home here, he thinks.

"So what do you think?" Tyler asks. "Will you stay for a while?"

"Is that an invitation?" Jamie asks.

It's Tyler's turn to shrug.

"You're running from something, but you can't hide forever. May as well be comfortable in the meantime, right?"

"Right," Jamie says.

"I live here, sometimes," Tyler says, directing Jamie to a relatively nice apartment block. "That's an invitation then, I guess." His speech is stilted, like he's not sure what he's saying. Jamie's not quite sure what he's saying either.

It sounds a bit like a storybook romance, or a bad rom-com. Jamie thinks he'll never hear the end of it if his life becomes this thing sitcoms make fun of. Jordie won't let it go. He shrugs again.

"I'll take it."

"Good," Tyler says. "Park in spot 91."

"Okay," Jamie says. He pauses. "It's my nana's funeral next week. I'm here so I don't have to be there. I thought, you know, the weather's nice here this time of year."

"That's ok," Tyler smiles a bit crookedly. "Birds fly north again in the spring."

Jamie takes a deep breath.

"So."

"So," Tyler echoes.

"My name's Jamie."

"Nice to meet you, Jamie. My car broke down and I decided to hitchhike home instead of fly because I had the time. My name is Tyler Seguin; I play forward for the Dallas Stars, and welcome to my crib."

Jamie laughs for the first time in weeks as Tyler throws open the door to his apartment, and a rush of fur and dog collides into Jamie's legs. Tyler leans against the wall, hugs his puppies, and says, "And welcome home."

**Author's Note:**

> for H. - thanks for being my backbone all these years. it won't be the same, coming home without you there. I know this would make you laugh, so I wrote you a story but you aren't here to laugh at me anymore. Hope heaven's got some good DIY punk for you. Keep rocking in the afterlife, and I'll see you on the other side.
> 
> RIP.
> 
> Don't drink and drive. Don't hit and run.  
> Don't.


End file.
